


(Guaranteed) I Can Blow Your Mind

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Job, Did you mean..Canon?, Dubious Uses of an Olympic Gold Medal, His Secondary Kink is Yuuri's Everything Else, Long-Haired Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Married Couple, Minor Porn Logic, Phichit is Long-Suffering, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Those Games I Legally Should Not Have Mentioned By Name, Victor's Main Kink is Yuuri Wiping the Floor With Him in Competition, Yuuri is a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 17:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: The rationale is some kind of half-assed, mumbled explanation about the student becoming the master, but Victor’s primary kink is Yuuri outperforming him on the ice. Yuuri can feel it buzzing off Victor’s body during the medal ceremony from where he stands to his left as the Japanese national anthem plays. When Yuuri’s medal is placed around his neck, Victor’s a little flushed with his eyes slowly dragging up Yuuri’s throat to his mouth before cutting back to the audience.The whole ceremony lasts maybe thirteen minutes, but Phichit audibly sighs when it ends. “Can you two consider that the next time I make sports history holding off on the weird foreplay until it’s over? That’d be great, thanks.”Victor and Yuuri compete in the Olympics, and Yuuri gets more than one prize as a result.





	(Guaranteed) I Can Blow Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misha_katsuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_katsuki/gifts).



The road to Pyeongchang was hard fought, but handily won, and with only a few weeks notice, Yuuri finds himself being fitted for an orangey-red winter coat that’s almost to his knees along with blue puffy pants and white and orange Moon Boots. “This is…”

“Adorable!” Victor shouts.

Yuuri gives him a pinched look from under the knit-hem of the blue and white beanie. “Not my choice of word.”

Victor puts his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, rubbing them through the too-hot-while-indoors fabric. He ties the white and blue scarf reading JAPAN around his neck to finish the ensemble. “The flag bearer must be perfect,” Victor says with pride in his voice.

“God I hope I don’t drop it or something,” Yuuri mutters.

“Self-deprecation is bad for you,” Victor reminds him. 

“I know,” Yuuri admits. “Sorry.”

Victor tuts and then holds Yuuri at arm’s length. “You really are adorable in this.” He pats Yuuri’s cheek a few times. “And it’ll be fun to take it off you when the ceremony ends.”

Yuuri blushes. He knows all about the Olympic Village and its reputation as, more or less, a Den of Iniquity. He did come to the last ones for the team event, after all, and naturally Victor won gold. This is Victor’s last turn for Russia, though Mila is their flag bearer this year. Victor was asked to do it for the second time, but he graciously refused so someone else could have a moment in the sun. 

Really it’s because Yuuri knows he’ll sneak as close as he can manage without outright marching for the wrong country, but that’s neither here nor there. Especially as Russia and Japan aren’t close alphabetically.

Victor’s cell rings, and he excuses himself to take the call. Yuuri adjusts his scarf and beanie, with his shoulder-length hair sticking out at odd angles from underneath the hat. He is a little cute like this. He practices a big smile in the full-length mirror, the one his mom always likes best. Yeah, it’s pretty cute.

Victor says something loudly in Russian and then angrily hangs up. 

Yuuri gives him a confused look. “What’s wrong?”

“They don’t want us to room together,” Victor grumbles. “Some nonsense about propriety.”

“…We’re married,” Yuuri says. “Is it because of the whole Russia and Japan thing? They can’t give us a room on neutral ground?”

“They claim to be working on it,” Victor says with obvious disgust. “I made sure they understand the ridiculousness of the rule and that they need to do better.”

Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor and hugs him for a long time. “We’ll figure it out, Vitusha.” 

Victor leans back against him. “I can’t stand the idea of separate rooms for the three weeks we’ll be abroad.”

“I can’t either, so we’ll try to talk sense into them,” Yuuri reiterates. He presses his face into the space between Victor’s shoulders. “I love you and the Olympic Committee is a bag of dicks.”

Victor snorts like he always does when Yuuri says something approaching crass. He brings Yuuri’s mitten-covered hands to his lips, kissing them with enough passion, Yuuri feels it through the fabric. 

Yuuri thinks maybe he’s got a plan forming, but it’s going to depend on a few factors once they arrive in Pyeongchang. 

At the very least, it’ll be fun.

 

* * *

 

Between the 8000 selfies Phichit insists they take together, the actual whirlwind that is the team event, and now the men’s discipline, Yuuri momentarily enters a fugue state when he realizes he is the men’s solo gold medalist.

Victor won silver, and the huge news story is that Phichit is taking home bronze, the first time in history for Thailand. So while Phichit placed third, he gets all the media attention which plays into Yuuri’s hands oh-so-perfectly.

Victor is like any other athlete at the top of his field; he heavily prefers to win, but only when it’s actually a proper fight. A chief source of his malaise before he became Yuuri’s coach was feeling as though the results were always a foregone conclusion. Winning was empty when he felt he just had to show up, but now that Victor has to put his back into his wins, he’s inspired and lit aflame again.

The other thing about Victor is that losing to Yuuri in particular _ is easily his biggest turn on. _

When Yuuri edged him out for gold at Worlds, they were barely out of sight before Victor had his way with Yuuri.

_ Twice _ .

Victor's rationale is some kind of half-assed, mumbled explanation about the student becoming the master, but Victor’s primary kink is Yuuri outperforming him on the ice. Yuuri can feel it buzzing off Victor’s body during the medal ceremony from where he stands to his left as the Japanese national anthem plays. When Yuuri’s medal is placed around his neck, Victor’s a little flushed with his eyes slowly dragging up Yuuri’s throat to his mouth before cutting back to the audience.

The whole ceremony lasts maybe thirteen minutes, but Phichit audibly sighs when it ends. “Can you two consider holding off on the weird foreplay the next time I make sports history until it’s over? That’d be great, thanks.”

Truckloads of instant Regret fill Yuuri. “Why did I tell you about that?”

“No idea, you definitely knew better,” Phichit replies. More press swarm him like buzzing humanoid microphones. “Anyways, see you probably at the Closing Ceremony. Make sure to swing by the Condom Man because  _ safety first _ .”

Yuuri hates his friend so much right now, but mostly because he can read him like an open book printed in his native Thai. He and Victor aren’t off the hook for interviews either, though, since it’s also a big deal a married couple both medaled in the same discipline as opponents.

They sit in a lounge and are asked slight variations of the same six questions. Victor’s smile gets a bit tighter with the passing of every ten minute increment. Yuuri decides a little dirty pool’s in order, subtly taking his wrist and rubbing his thumb just once slowly on the inside of his wrist.

Victor stammers mid-sentence, but finishes his thought without further issue.

The committee allowed them to share a room thanks to a stern diatribe that sounded less like human speech and more like gale-force winds from Victor, but thanks to the rigorousness of interviews, practice, events, and meet and greets, they’ve had no  _ quality time _ . So the goal when they get out of here is for Yuuri to blow Victor’s mind.

Finally, they’re excused. Victor’s silver medal is placed in his pocket. Yuuri smiles at him. His hair is out of his eyes thanks to a half-braid crown across his forehead. It’s a style he knows Victor’s particularly fond of, as it leaves the rest of it free for him to touch.

Or…pull.

Yuuri takes Victor’s hand. “Want to go home with me?”

Victor notices the teasing in his voice. He’s still got that tell-tale flush from the podium. “Won’t your coach disapprove?”

“He may punish me if he finds out,” Yuuri offers with equal teasing and flirtatiousness. “He’ll take me over his knee for a bit. It’s worth it, though.”

The flush deepens from a rose pink to a feverish red. Victor bites his bottom lip, and Yuuri knows he’s got him.

When they hit the 60-hour mark without fucking, Victor starts to get stressed, like he’s a habitual smoker with no matches or lighter and a full pack of cigarettes. He compared Yuuri to being high once, which Yuuri would be put out by except this means he gets incredibly regular sex, so who’s the real winner here?

Unfortunately, they have to head to the village in a manner that seems casual. It’s hard not to run like kids who found out their parents aren’t home, but there are reporters and other athletes everywhere. They have to use discretion, as annoying as it is to have to wait even this little bit more.

They make it to the team Japan building, where it’s a short jaunt to their apartment. He makes sure the door is locked with the Do Not Disturb sign visible on the outside knob. Then Victor, his beautiful Victor, is on him like a starving man at a five-course gourmet meal. His kiss is desperate and frantic, and Yuuri’s white jacket is dropped to the ground like it’s a filthy rag. Before it goes further, he pushes Victor to arm’s length.

“On the bed,” Yuuri orders. “I won, and I want my prize.”

Victor strips off his own warm ups, leaving him in a t-shirt and a pair of briefs visibly straining against his erection. Yuuri takes his gold medal (which — holy  _ shit _ but more on that later), and he winds it around Victor’s neck like a leash.

Victor moans just a little, his hips jerking slightly towards Yuuri. He needs to be touched and he needs to get off, and Yuuri’s happy to oblige as nothing in the world is a better prize than riding Victor hard and putting him away wet after.

Yuuri looks at Victor again. “Have you taken care of yourself in the shower?”

“No, honestly,” Victor answers. “I decided to wait for us to have a proper moment together.”

Yuuri definitely wants this to last a while, but if Victor hasn’t tended to himself, it likely can’t. There’s a simple fix for the second round, though. “I guess I have to start with your consolation prize.”

Victor looks relieved and greedy all at once. “Oh?”

Yuuri drops to his knees in one smooth, controlled movement. He parts Victor’s thighs with his hands, fitting himself in between like he was built for this space. Maybe he was, Yuuri wonders, as he bends to scrape his teeth just-so across the sensitive flesh inside Victor’s right thigh. He uses his tongue to run a trail up Victor’s thigh towards his straining underwear, taking his hands to pull them down, freeing his cock. Yuuri wets his lips at the sight, and then he bends, giving the head a teasing lick as he tastes the slight-salty tang of his precome.

Victor drops a hand into Yuuri’s hair, gripping the loose strands behind the braid crown, and Yuuri takes that as the necessary encouragement to get to work, opening his mouth and dropping down so that Victor’s cock slides down into his throat.

Yuuri loves this, lives for it, the power Victor surrenders to him when he gives Victor head. He lives for the sting on his scalp after, the shaking mess Victor becomes when he spoils him this specific way. He puts an arm across Victor’s legs like a lap belt in a roller coaster, using his other hand to pump his cock while he bobs his mouth up and down his shaft. He’s aware of Victor saying a filthy litany of his name, the gold medal bouncing as his chest heaves.

Yuuri backs off, slows things down, prevents Victor finishing like a rocket ignites. He gives his cock several slow tugs, watching the love of his life slowly realize what’s happening. “Yuuri— “ Victor begins to protest when he regains his footing.

Yuuri looks up, giving him the smile from the opening of  _ Eros _ . “This time I want you to come for me, okay?”

Victor blinks, nods. Yuuri takes him down again, wrapping his tongue around Victor’s head like it’s some kind of heavenly confection, which to Yuuri, it honestly is. His jaw aches a little, but in the best way, and Yuuri feels his own erection become damn near painful as he slides his hand into Victor’s briefs to fondle his balls the way that always drives him over the edge. Victor is struggling not to just fuck Yuuri’s face, and while normally if he did it’d be fine, tonight’s a special occasion and their positions make it a little risky for Yuuri’s ability to breathe.

They’ve tried. It’s far more successful with Yuuri’s back against a headboard and Victor kneeling in front of him.

In the here and now, Yuuri feels Victor’s grip on his hair tighten to a degree that would cause a headache if it wasn’t going to be just for about forty seconds. “Yuuri—”

Yuuri gives his thigh a gentle caress.  _ Go ahead _ .

Victor does, his hips jerking up as he spills into Yuuri’s mouth with a shout. Yuuri is worthy of an Olympic medal in blow jobs as well as figure skating, and so he swallows every single drop, wiping the spit from his mouth when he’s satisfied.

Victor’s posture has loosened while his face is a picture of pure bliss, but the night’s young and Yuuri hasn’t finished with him yet. “You’re still with me, right?” Yuuri asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” Victor manages after a beat.

“Did I take the edge off?” Yuuri asks as a follow-up.

Victor’s eyes sparkle with recognition and anticipation. “Yeah.”

The consolation prize was the blow job, but the first place finish is Yuuri pounding him until he causes multiple noise complaints from the rest of Team Japan. Yuuri grabs the lube packets he swiped from the Condom Man’s offering dish in the lobby so he can prep Victor until he begs.

When it’s time, Victor lies on his side and Yuuri wins no less than  _ five _ noise complaints along with the awkward avoidance of his gaze from the Japanese Olympic Committee. He fingers the silk ribbon while he watches Victor adjust how he sits more than is typical during press the next day, low key preening when he spots the one small hickey visible above his shirt collar.

Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was prompted by Misha, who requested a post-canon blow job with Yuuri giving. I hope you love this! 💞 Beta'ed by The BookeWyrme and TheHobbem!
> 
> There's no finer excuse than an extremely thin one! The title is a [Dua Lipa lyric](https://open.spotify.com/track/7kJlTKjNZVT26iwiDUVhRm?si=5Rn9JMT7QturLH5Y4N-P_w).
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


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